


tomorrow will be kinder

by iamthemagicks



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemagicks/pseuds/iamthemagicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Capable had spotted him on the horizon a week after they returned to the Citadel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tomorrow will be kinder

**Author's Note:**

> one itsy-bitsy mention of self-harm.

Nux rolls a bolt over the round curve of her stomach. Any day now, the mothers told them. 

What will we call it.

Her.

You're certain? He smirked at her.

Yes.

What will we call her?

Capable gazed outward towards the empty desert. Horizon, she said. Fury. Tomorrow. I can't decide. The Dag named her daughter Pod, after the green and sprouting buds in her garden.

Oh! she gasped. She knocked the bolt out of his hand and pressed it flat against her stomach, right under her navel. Right there. Oh, she's strong. 

The baby kicked hard under his hand. He swallowed and bent down to press his lips to her skin.

*

Capable had spotted him on the horizon a week after they returned to the Citadel. She and Dag were picking flowers when she saw the tiny figure against the sun and sand. She thought it a mirage at first; for nights she had dreamed and prayed that he would somehow make his way back to her, but Toast reminded her that the rig blew, the rocks collapsed. It was a noble sacrifice, he'd finally be in that Valhalla the war boys were always going on about. A good death.

So they gathered their flowers and went to their rooms. Capable grabbed her binoculars and climbed back to one of the gardens. She prepared for the disappointment, to find nothing but the sand. Maybe it was just a stray animal who would be dead by nightfall, or just a gust of wind. She pressed the binoculars to her face and scanned the horizon. At first, she didn't see anything. Just the sand and rocks she'd been so accustomed to seeing. But she looked back and forth, up and down until she spotted a figure. His figure. 

Staggering, covered in blood and sweat. He held a hand to his chest and dragged a leg. His eyes were focused, determined. 

She almost dropped the binoculars and screamed out for Furiousa and a ride.

*

Capable draws herself a bath in the middle of the night. The quarters are as quiet as mice, the stone walls cool to the touch. She fills the tub almost to the brim with hot water and adds oils Dag made from their flowers. They had names once, a long time ago, but no one remembers them. Tiny purple petals and flat silk like pink ones. Dusts of yellow and orange, petals the same color red as her hair.

She lowers herself into the tub and inhales deeply, taking the flowers deep into her lungs. The temperature helps ease the pressure in her lower back. During the day, she soaks her feet in cold water for her swollen ankles.

The Citadel sleeps under the blanket of sky and stars. Before, there was always noise. They could hear it in their room (waiting to see who would be picked for the night), the War Boys always chattering, babies screeching. Engines revving and tools clattering. But with most of the War Boys dead, and the remaining finally allowed to rest, and children with mothers, the rock stayed quiet.

She begins to doze off when a presences wakens her. 

Nux stands at the entrance way, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

What are you doing up?

He shrugs. Couldn't sleep.

Care to join me?

He's quiet as he approaches the bath and removes his trousers and slips into the water with her. He winces a moment. She grins and stretches out her legs, setting her feet against his stomach. He takes them in his hands and starts rubbing her heels.

You smell like the garden. 

He didn't know anything about plants or trees before. He didn't know where their food came from, or the luxury of fresh water on his skin. I like that smell, he says.

Me too. She leans back, resting her head against the rock. The long strands of her hair float around her shoulders. The baby moves restlessly, ready to be born. 

*

A broken leg. Three broken ribs. Pulled muscles, burns along his back. He was rubbed with salves and wrapped with linens. They set his leg, though he would always walk with a limp. He called out for her, screamed for her in the middle of the night when he woke alone. They had to keep him tied down until the swelling stopped, and the leg healed enough for a walking stick.

She stayed by his side, tending his burns, bringing him food.

Don't thrash so much, she told him, dabbing his head with a wet cloth that smelled like something green.

It hurts, he replied. Like the sun is under my skin.

She dropped the rag and reaches for some other bottles. Here, she says, dappening the same rag. This will cool it.

It stung at first, as she dragged the cloth over his skin, but then his skin tingled, and finally settled, bringing soft relief. What is that.

It's from a plant. It helps with burns. Here, drink. She holds a cup of water to his mouth. 

The War Boys weren't allowed much water, only jut enough to get them by; once every three days if they were lucky. It filled his belly. 

She brushed his forehead and his eyebrows. I'm glad you came back. I watched for you.

I promised, he said, taking another sip of water. They fed him broths and soups with plants in them (vegetables, love, they're called vegetables) With his good arm, he reached for her hand and grasped her fingers. All he thought about as he staggered, broken and bloody across the sand, was her. Her flame red hair, her soft skin, her hands touching his mouth again.

During the night when he couldn't quite sleep and couldn't quite get comfortable, she sat as his side and rubbed his head. She sang to him. Songs about tomorrow, about the ocean, about love. She circled the shell of his ear, tracing a heart.

*

The sun sets painting the room in pinks and oranges. Nux lay sprawled on the bed with his head in Capable's lap. She run her fingers through his short hair. She tells him stories of her childhood before she was at the Citadel. 

I had so many brothers and sisters, she says. We played games, we sang, she sighs. 

It sounds lovely.

It was. One hand in his hair, the other on her belly. She's been rubbing oils over her skin for months, keeping her floral scented and glistening. I miss that, the collective joy of children laughing.

I never had that, he says. War Boys were nothing but chaos, loud and steel. 

Nothing tender, the only joy to be found was in fixing cars, and hopefully getting picked to drive.

She runs both of her hands through his hair. Soon, she says. 

*

 

For months, they lie in the same bed. At night she would touch his scars, the tip of his nose, the outline of his lips and he would do the same. Learning the contours of her body, the feel of her skin and hair. 

He melted under the touch of her hands. Over his shoulders, down his arms; bumps rose all over his skin where her nails dragged. They kissed and she always tasted like sweet fruit.

She never knew a kind touch from a man. She wasn't often picked by the Immortan; Splendid was the favorite, but there were a few nights. She always kept her eyes closed and thought about the horizon. But Nux was tender, Nux was kind. He loved deeply, he spoke softly. He respected her.

One night, her hands drifted down his waist and started to pluck at the button of his trousers.

He froze and held his breath. You don't...I wouldn't...I haven't...he stammered. 

She touched his lips and traced the scars. I want to see all of you, she said. Can I?

He swallowed and nodded, letting her continue the unbuttoning. He held his breath. 

If you don't want, she started.

He shook his head. No, I...I haven't before, he admitted. His cheeks flushed.

I know, she said. Her finger traced the tattoo on his chest. Do you want to see me? 

He nodded. Then, slowly. We'll go slow. Another nod. I'll go first. 

She moved to kneel on the bed, bathed in white and blue light from the moon. She unwrapped herself from her nightgown and arm warmers. She had scars over her wrists, jagged from the razor she used. She told him about it once; there was a lot of blood, it looked like her hair, it was beautiful, she said. She didn't want to die, she just didn't want to exist in that moment, but her sisters saved her and she never touched a razor again.

Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, the shiniest thing he'd ever seen. He rose to meet her, kissing her on the mouth. His hands traveled down her sides, her hips and back up to her hair.

*

The baby comes in the early morning, as the sun is rising and shocking the sky with neon orange and soft purple. She has her sisters with her, and the mothers. Dag sang soothingly into her ear. You're doing so well, you'll have your darling baby soon. She kisses her temple.

She screams and clutches Nux's hand. He shakes with fear. I'm sorry, he tells her in a low whisper. 

One more, says one of the mothers. One more and you'll be done.

She nods. She grits her teeth and screams again as she pushes; it feels like she'll break his hand, but Nux lets her squeeze. 

She sees brightness and light. And then everything is broken by the sound of the baby's crying.

A girl, says one of the mothers. She lifts the baby onto Capable's chest. 

Oh, Capable sighs, kissing the baby on top of her head. The baby wails and screams, strong just like Capable had anticipated. Oh, Nux, look at her, look.

He swallows. I see. He reaches out to touch her back. 

The mothers cut the cord and wash off the baby. Capable's sisters ooh and awe and congratulate her. 

Nux watches as they clean the baby. He counts her fingers and her toes, and glances over for lumps. War Boys didn't become fathers. Most of them didn't live long enough, and if they did, they didn't have women. They didn't have futures.

Nux, Capable calls with her arm outstretched. He takes her hand and stands at her side. He kisses her head and her cheek on her mouth. She cries and laughs and smiles. She's beautiful, she says. Oh, she's so beautiful.

Yes, he agrees. He still shakes.

What's wrong?

What if...what if she's a half-life? he whispers. He kept his concerns quiet, not wanting to upset her. He thought about in the night while Capable slept and her stomach grew. Defects were common in the Citadel. 

She gave him a sympathetic half-smile before touching his cheek. Oh, Nux. He kisses her palm.

They bring the baby over; she's stopped screaming, but Capable still cries with a smile. 

Nux looks over her again. All her fingers and toes, not a single lump or blemish on her skin. He touches the shell of her ear. 

*

What will we call her? Nux asks. He holds the baby against his bare chest. She's tiny, his hand easily fits over her back and rib cage. She sleeps against him, warm and tender.

Morning, Capable says with a lazy smile. 

Perfect, he says.

He moves from the window to sit next her in the bed. She rests her head against his shoulder and reaches out to stroke Morning's hair. Fire red, just like hers. 

He sighs contently.

If he was spared for something, it was this.


End file.
